was to shake her head and murmur: "Po' Marfy, she jes' ez
blind ez a bat. She jes' go 'long, holdin' on to dat chile wid all huh
might, an' I see death in Lucy's face now. Dey ain't no faif nur
prayer, nur Jack-leg doctors nuther gwine to save huh."

But Martha needed no pity then. She was happy in her self-delusion.

On the morrow the faith doctor came to see Lucy. She had not seemed so
well that morning, even to her mother, who remained at home until the
doctor arrived. He carried a conquering air, and a baggy umbrella, the
latter of which he laid across the foot of the bed as he bent over the
moaning child.

"Give me some brown paper," he commanded.

Martha hastened to obey, and the priestly practitioner dampened it in
water and laid it on Lucy's head, all the time murmuring prayers--or
were they incantations?--to himself. Then he placed pieces of the
paper on the soles of the child's feet and on the palms of her hands,
and bound them there.

When all this was done he knelt down and prayed aloud, ending with a
peculiar version of the Lord's prayer, supposed to have mystic effect.
Martha was greatly impressed, but through it all Lucy lay and moaned.

The faith curist rose to go. "Well, we can look to have her out in a
few days. Remember, my good woman, much depends upon you. You must try
to keep your mind in a state of belief. Are you saved?"

"Oh, yes, suh. I'm a puffessor," said Martha, and having completed his
mission, the man of prayers went out, and Caroline again took Martha's
place at Lucy's side.

In the next two days Martha saw, or thought she saw, a steady
improvement in Lucy. According to instructions, the brown paper was
moved every day, moistened, and put back.

Martha had so far spurred her faith that when she went out on Saturday
morning she promised to bring Lucy something good for her Christmas
dinner, and a pair of shoes against the time of her going out, and
also a little doll. She brought them home that night. Caroline had
grown tired and, lighting the lamp, had gone home.

"I done brung my little lady bird huh somep'n nice," said Martha,
"here's a lil' doll and de lil' shoes, honey. How's de baby feel?"
Lucy did not answer.

"You sleep?" Martha went over to the bed. The little face was pinched
and ashen. The hands were cold.

"Lucy! Lucy!" called the mother. "Lucy! Oh, Gawd! It ain't true! She
ain't daid! My little one, my las' one!"

She rushed for the elixir and brought it to th